


And As the Red Dawn Whispers

by JJGrace42



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJGrace42/pseuds/JJGrace42
Summary: There was a devil in her head and a halo in her hair. And she wondered why no one else was this way. A different kind of SI/OC Insert fanfic. Rated M for violence, strong themes, and language.





	And As the Red Dawn Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is a side story I’ve been working on. I promise I’m not abandoning Samsaric, which will still take up the bulk of my writing time. This is just the story I’ve written on occasion when I get writer’s block. So I won’t promise to update this story regularly.  
> This story is a bit of a different take on the idea of a person dying in our world and being reincarnated in the anime. It’s very different take on that. Let me know what you guys think. So read and review!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Naruto world and the characters in it belong to me only in my dreams.
> 
> I give you the first installment of And As the Red Dawn Whispers.

It was her first birthday when she realized she was different. The discovery had been an accident, like most things she did, and she knew she wasn’t supposed to have heard them. But her ears were sharper than they realized, and she knew curiosity wouldn’t kill her because she was distinctly not feline.

And those kinds of thoughts were exactly what her family was worried about.

“I’m concerned,” her mother had confided. “She doesn’t act like a child. I look at her and sometimes I feel like I don’t even know her.”

Her father had sounded serious, and it was hard for her to reconcile him with the clown who’d spent an hour that morning imitating animals just so he could hear her laugh. “She is different . . . . But there’s nothing actually wrong with her. We love her all the same, advanced maturity and all.”

Then they’d returned, gifting her with the very first book she’d been able to call her own. Her mother promised to teach her to read, and her father apologized for burning the cake to the point where it was inedible. She had giggled and asked them to tell her a story.

They told her about a woman who drowned in the ocean and became a mermaid.

* * *

 

She was a few months past her two year anniversary when she realized she wasn’t alone in her head. She had been folding paper with her mother, her toddler fingers trying to twist the material into a flower, when she thought of a question. What were they doing? Folding paper, yes. But did it have a name?

 **Origami,** the voice had said. **It’s called origami.**

She had squeaked in response, her sudden flailing scattering the paper and her mother’s masterpieces to the ground. Her mother had looked shocked.

**Tell her you got a paper cut. That it surprised you.**

So she did. She had expected to be scolded or questioned further, but instead her mother had picked up the mess and told her daughter to be more careful in life. She had asked why.

Her mother had told her that sometimes paper cuts weren’t on the outside.

* * *

 

She had just turned three when she disobeyed the voice for the first time. Crouched outside her parents’ room, she stared at the stolen money in her tiny hands and listened to them sleeping. _Tousan says the village is too dangerous,_ she told the voice. _He says I shouldn’t go out there alone._

**But if someone goes with you, they won’t let you get the candy.**

_But it’s wrong._

**And who told you that? Who gets to decide right and wrong?**

_Not me! I’m three!_ She had clenched the money tightly in her hands and then narrowed her gaze at the crack between the door and the floor. _But it’s wrong._ She shoved the currency under the door and them stumbled to her feet. _You’re wrong,_ she said firmly, expecting a complaint from her constant companion. Instead, the voice chuckled.

**That’s my girl. It’s nice to know you can think for yourself.**

* * *

 

She was four when they came back and her father wasn’t breathing. **Dead,** the voice had whispered. It hadn’t sounded surprised. **Everyone, everything, dies.**

 _But why now?_ she had asked, staring as they walked past. She knew what dead meant; it meant someone was sleeping and they wouldn’t wake up again. Tears pricked her eyes. Her mother hadn’t even glanced at her. Her father—gone, dead, still, hollow.

Not breathing.

 **Because sometimes you can’t protect the people you love. Because sometimes Fate likes taking the things precious to us and cripple our emotions just to watch us cry.** The voice had sounded annoyed, frustrated. Something wet traced a path down her cheek. **Don’t cry. Crying is weak. It does nothing. Nothing!**

Her eyes had gone wide and her lips trembled. _Kaasan says it’s okay to cry._

**She didn’t protect your father, wasn’t able to. That’s not the sign of a person you can believe. Don’t listen to her. Crying is unacceptable.**

_I . . . I think you’re wrong._

The group had disappeared down the hallway, her father’s body suspended between them. She couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them, couldn’t even remember when they’d really left.

 **Tears don’t bring back the dead, and they won’t protect** **what you still have.**

_What are you talking about?_

**The only thing that protects those precious to you is your own blood, and you have to be willing to spill it.**

* * *

 

It was five years since she had been born and her father was walking again. Of course, she knew it wasn’t him. They’d made sure to explain that. There was metal in his skin and his eyes weren’t his anymore. He was a vessel. He was the only way her father’s friend could interact with the world anymore.

There was a reason she hadn’t seen her uncle in months.

Her mother was distant, withdrawn. The voice had explained the concept of depression to her, but she wasn’t quite sure she understood. Did her mother not understand the sometimes people died? Though maybe it was different, because her mother didn’t have a voice to tell her about it. Maybe she was just lucky. Though probably not, because if she was lucky her father would still be the one in his body.

She had trouble sleeping some nights, though she never told anyone. The voice clarified what nightmares were and then would lull her back to sleep with stories she’d never heard before. Her favorite was about a mermaid, like the story her father had told her when she’d been smaller. But this story was different. The other one ended happy, but the mermaid was sad in this one.

She asked the voice if turning into sea foam so someone could be happy was like spilling blood for someone precious, but the voice never did answer her question.

* * *

 

She was six when she realized that the voice really, truly needed a name. She had been taking a break from training, watching as her skin practically bloomed with bruises right in front of her eyes. The voice had been irritated, telling her she wasn’t good enough yet if she kept getting hurt like that. The words stung a little, but she knew her strange friend was right. **Not good enough,** the voice had said. **But you can be.**

They were words she knew by heart now—repeated over and over by her companion throughout all her training sessions, day after day after day. She was constantly reminded of what she could be and what she would be. And that made her wonder. _What are you, then?_

Her question must have surprised the voice, because now she didn’t even get an annoyed demand that she go away. Instead, there was silence. Unnerving, empty.

_I’m sorry if that was mean. I’m just saying that I know who I am. I have a name and a family and a future. But you’re a voice inside my head. Do you have those too?_

**I . . . used to. A long time ago. I had a name, and a garden, and a home, and a family, and a dog, and a dream that I’d wake up to every morning. I had a life. But now I’m just like you said; a voice inside your head. What more should I be?**

_You’re my friend. I think friends should have names._

**I told you, I don’t have a name anymore.**

_Can I give you one?_

The voice hadn’t answered and the girl frowned.

 _You told me a story about a world where people had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. I think I liked that story. People never liked the devil, even though being like that was his job. And they didn’t listen to him, even though sometimes what he said was smart._ She had paused to contemplate her next few words.  _My name is Tenshi. Can I call you Akuma?_

Because she didn’t need an angel and a devil on her shoulders when she already had both in her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Question: Can you guess when and where the protagonist(s) are in the storyline?
> 
> Today’s suggested fanfic: Kitsune by EmptySurface. (on FF.net)


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